


orphanage

by KissedKitten



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Modern AU, Teenagers, everything i touch turns to angst, fluffy at first, maybe idk kind of, then kinda angsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-27
Updated: 2013-09-27
Packaged: 2017-12-27 18:33:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/982225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KissedKitten/pseuds/KissedKitten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Feuilly and Montparnasse have been in the same orphanage for a while, getting up to all sorts of antics. It doesn't help that the cruel Sister Turner is ever-watching.</p>
            </blockquote>





	orphanage

**Author's Note:**

> totally un-beta'd so if you see a mistake please notify me!! this was inspired by my friend Kai's drawing .// marius-you-dumb-shit.tumblr.com \\\\. anyway dears enjoy xox

"For getting the girl's dresses dirty and covering your own clothes in mud, I expect the entire week's laundry to be hand washed by the pair of you," The sharp-tongued and ever cruel Sister Turner glared down at the pair of boys, her stare burning a hole through their confidence. The taller one was quaking under a thick mop of apricot hair, while the younger simply stood there gazing somewhat smugly up at the unforgiving nun. 

They were forced into this orphanage somewhere in Austria, after being rejected from homes in France, Poland, Germany, even Italy. The orphanage was called the 'Lienz Orphange' and was located in Lienz, Austria. It was also known as the 'Out of Luck Orphanage', simply because no one ever made it out. All the kids there had been moved from foster home to foster home so often that no one wanted them, and so they were put in the orphanage until old enough to leave and make their own way. 

The two boys - Feuilly and Montparnasse - had been sharing a bunk bed for the past two years, and 'Parnasse never failed to amaze Feuilly with his antics, in which the ginger was always involved. 

_"The name's Montparnasse. But you can just call me Mont," the younger boy had said, holding out his hand with unmistakable confidence._

_"My name's Feuilly," he said quietly, trying to smooth the unruly curls that framed his face, taking the others hand and shaking it lightly._

_"What kind of fucking name is Feuilly?" Mont had asked, raising his eyebrow._

_"Speak for your bloody self," he muttered quietly, before both boys broke out in a wide grin._

Mont was eleven when they first met, and Feuilly was twelve. It would have been the very next day that they were in a huge amount of trouble for adding red food dye to the water tank. 

"But sister, why would we hand wash the laundry when we have a perfectly good washing machine?" 'Parnasse asked with the smallest smirk on his face. Feuilly was internally punching his friend - he was only going to make things worse. 

"If I got you to use the washing machine, you wouldn't learn your lesson, now would you?" Her voice cut through them like a butcher's knife through a slab of meat - harsh and forceful. Feuilly gulped and silently prayed that they would get out of his alive. Montparnasse, however, simply smiled sweetly and said 'Of course'. 

The pair gathered up the muddy dresses and all the other clothing from the laundry and dumped it into a basket. They stripped down to their underwear and placed their own filthy clothes with the rest. Both boys were scrawny and misshapen from countless beatings and skin littered with thin white scars.

With Mont leading with one basket and Feuilly following with a great deal of powders and liquids, they made their way outside to fill buckets of water. While the ginger watched the tap, careful to not let it overfill, Mont watched as Sister Turner left for town. 

"Come on, she's gone!" he nudged his friend sharply in the ribs, which instinctively caused Feuilly to lash out and hit him back. 

Mont rubbed gingerly at his jaw when Feuilly said, "We're not going fucking anywhere, we're going to wash these clothes and stay out of trouble until the end of the week, got it?"

The other just rolled his eyes and picked up the basket. "We are washing the clothes, we're just going to use the machine, got it?" he mimicked Feuilly in a squeaky voice. Feuilly clenched his jaw and balled his fists before reluctantly following with the rest of the gear. 

Montparnasse sat atop the washing machine, swinging his feet back and forth in time with the whir of the machine. Feuilly waited anxiously by the door, keeping a look out for anyone that would get them in trouble. He fiddled with the spare button he found in his pocket, glancing occasionally at his friend. When he looked this time, he was sucking on a lollipop like it was the most casual thing. 

"Where did you even get that?" Feuilly asked, though only met with a shrug of shoulders.

"Stole it." 

"Did you get me one?"

Mont smirked and threw a raspberry flavoured sucker at Feuilly's head.

~~ 

Two and half hours had passed, and the washing had been hanging on the line for quite a while. The boys were now inside and laying on their bunk beds. Feuilly was sketching in his wrecked pad with a measly piece of charcoal, the lines thick and messy. Mont was simply laying there, humming an unrecognisable tune. 

Smashing through the silence, the door swung open, hitting the wall with a loud _clang._ "Feuilly and Montparnasse!" Their names rang out through the long room, startling both boys. They scrambled off their beds and stood to attention, like soldiers in training. In marched Sister Turner, with wrinkles like war paint streaked across her face. She was carrying the clean washing with an unreadable expression. 

"Boys, you've done a lovely job with the laundry." _Uh oh._ A compliment. This was not good at all, they were guilty of something, and she knew it. 

She continued, "You know, when I saw the clothes on the line, I thought, 'Wow, those boys must really be trying to make it up to me and following instructions'." Montparnasse's expression was very cool and collected, opposed to Feuilly's quivering brow and chewing his lip nervously. Sister Turner dropped the basket on the floor, it landed with a _thump._ "And then I thought, 'If they had done this by hand, they certainly wouldn't smell of washing powder, only detergent' and yet - they do." 

She walked slowly to the nightstand on which Mont's glass of orange juice sat. Looking down her nose at the boys, she picked up the glass and tipped it agonisingly slow, right over the clean laundry. There was not a drop left in the glass. 

The ginger's breath hitched and he braced himself for the scourge he knew was coming. It didn't. Instead, the sister took his notebook from his hands, studying the drawing. She returned the pitiful book, but had taken the piece of charcoal. Snapping it in two over the laundry, she crushed the implement into a fine powder. Sister Turner dusted her lands off and kicked the basket towards 'Parnasse's feet. 

"What a shame, it would seem that the washing is dirty again," her tone was purely patronising, "You'll have to wash it again. By hand, this time please." Montparnasse gritted his teeth under her sneer. "Also, for wasting food, neither of you will get a share of your rations for the remainder of the week," With that, she spun on her heel and left the room in four long strides. 

Once the door had slammed shut, Montparnasse collapsed onto Feuilly's bed. "That bitch!" he hissed, followed by a number of uttered obscenities. Feuilly just rolled his eyes. 

"I blame you entirely."

"Me? What did I do?!"

"You made us use the washing machine."

"You didn't try and stop me."

"Oh, just shut the fuck up."

"No way, I'm out of here."

Feuilly's eyes flicked up to the younger boy's face. "Where are you going to go?"

An expression of thoughtfulness passed over Mont's features for a moment. "Paris."

Feuilly just stared at Montparnasse's face, studying it and trying to figure out what he was thinking. When he had decided that it was real this time, that he would actually get past the front gate, he nodded, "Maybe I'll leave too."

'Parnasse just scoffed, "You wouldn't have the guts."

"I fucking would," he argued, "Go back to Poland, I know some guys there." He stuffed his journal into his ratty backpack and took one last glance around the stuffy room. 

~~

The walk to the station was slow and tiresome, neither boy knowing how their lives would turn out. When finally arriving at the worn building as a train screeched to a halt, the very train that would divide their lives for years, in which only one would ever see the other again. 

In fact, twelve years had passed when Montparnasse finally saw Feuilly again. It was after one particularly violent riot. He was making his way through the streets of Paris, looking for anything of value that would go unnoticed. The bitumen road was stained with the life of people who thought they could make a change. Mont sneered at the notion of a better future, and those who thought they could achieve it. 

The dandy slinked through each alley into a crowded street. There was a large mob of people trying to get a glimpse of something - though he didn't know what. Forcing his way through the crowd, he shook his head at what he saw. There was a group of nine bodies lined up on the pavement. He caught a glance of each man's face, though his eye was drawn to a flash of familiar red hair. 

The hair was darker than he remembered, and his face had more freckles than it did twelve years ago, but it was still his friend from the Lienz Orphanage. He should have known that Feuilly would be one to try and change the world, especially after what he'd been through. His face turned stormy as he turned away from the failed revolutionaries and slipped back into the dark alleyway. 

_"So, I guess this is goodbye, then," Feuilly managed to say, a sad smile played at the corner of his lips._

_"Yeah, I suppose. Might see you 'round though, it's a small world, y'know?"_

_"Yeah, that'd be cool. When we're all grown up and successful," The ginger snorted, and they shared a laugh._

_"Successful, nice one," 'Parnasse looked at his friend one last time, then gave him a casual wave, "Get out of here, you shit," he joked._

_Feuilly crinkled his nose and jumped onto the train, giving Mont one last over-the-top wave, which he returned._

"A small world indeed," Montparnasse muttered to himself.


End file.
